A French Lullaby
by bertiebert
Summary: The song Francis used to sing to Matthew as a child became the most important song to him as he grew into his own nation. He never would have thought that it would bring him and Francis together in more ways than one later on.


**First: My headcanon for Franda is a little twisted. I love the thought of France being a 'papa' to Canada and raising him and stuff, but then I adore their romantic relationship as well. I'm totally okay with them being mixed together as well. If you don't like the thought of Canada being France's son and then later becoming his lover, then don't read this fic. I will not accept flaming reviews, so don't try it.**

**Second: I don't own Hetalia. If I did, then Franada would be the most canon relationship ever and Sweden would speak his vowels.**

**Third: Reviews make my entire life. So leave me some!**

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><p><em>Ô Canada!<em>_  
><em>_Terre de nos aïeux,__  
><em>_Ton front est ceint de fleurons glorieux!_

Francis sat in the rocking chair, singing to his little _Mathieu_. The big violet eyes blinked slowly, focused solely on Francis's mouth as he sang.

_Car ton bras sait porter l'épée,__  
><em>_Il sait porter la croix!_

He smiled, the French words rolling off his tongue smoothly and lulling his child to sleep. Having penned the song himself, Francis knew every word and note to it and never missed a beat. Matthew forced himself to stay awake, fascinated by the sound of his papa's voice.

_Ton histoire est une épopée__  
><em>_Des plus brillants exploits.__  
><em>_Et ta valeur, de foi trempée,_

Although the child didn't know what his papa was saying, just the sound of his smooth voice was enough to soothe and comfort him easily. Francis knew _Mathieu_ was going to stay awake until his little body was absolutely unable to hang on any longer. Just as he reached the last few lines, Matthew's eyes drooped closed and he cuddled up against Francis's chest.

_Protégera nos foyers et nos droits.__  
><em>_Protégera nos foyers et nos droits._

Standing with Matthew in his arms, Francis kissed his child's forehead before setting him in his crib. He smoothed Matthew's favorite blanket over the tiny body, sweeping the hair off his forehead tenderly.

"_Dors bien, mon amour,"_ Francis murmured, turning on the nightlight before leaving Matthew's room.

* * *

><p>"<em>Car ton bras sait porter l'épée,<em>_Il sait porter la croix!"_ Matthew sang softly to himself, drizzling maple syrup over his pancakes.

"Stop singing that infernal song in French, Matthew. If you must sing it, at least sing it in English," Arthur said sternly, never even looking up from reading the newspaper.

Alfred snickered, only to be swatted with the aforementioned newspaper. Arthur and Alfred got into it yet again, bickering over nothing and setting Matthew on edge. He ate his pancakes dejectedly, the song playing over and over in his mind. He hadn't heard it sung in absolute perfect French by his papa in years. It didn't bring him the same kind of joy to sing it himself. The only way he loved hearing it was by his papa—his silky voice flowing over the words flawlessly.

He never sang the song around Arthur or Alfred again, too worried that they would ruin the meaning of the song and the sentiment behind it. More than anything Matthew just wanted to be small again, nestled in his papa's arms as the Frenchman sang him to sleep.

* * *

><p><em>O Canada!<em>_  
><em>_Our home and native land__  
><em>_True patriot love in all thy sons command._

Matthew grinned, the sounds of his nation all around him as the countries from around the world celebrated. Kumajiro sat at his feet, watching everything with wide, black eyes. The opening ceremony for the Olympics in Vancouver had shocked every country into silence. Lights flashed and dancers performed as the countries and their athletes watched eagerly. Matthew truly hoped he'd done an acceptable job. China's Olympics in Beijing had been spectacular two years previous, and the young nation just wanted to be recognized for _something_.

_Car ton bras sait porter l'épée,__  
><em>_Il sait porter la croix!__  
><em>_Ton histoire est une épopée__  
><em>_Des plus brillants exploits._

The national anthem moved Matthew to tears and he pressed his sweatshirt sleeve to his face. Kumajiro leaned against his legs, offering what comfort he could. The song had come to mean so much more to Matthew, and couldn't believe how far he'd come since just hearing the song as a lullaby to get him to sleep at night.

_God keep our land glorious and free!__  
><em>_O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.__  
><em>_O Canada, we stand on guard for thee._

Seeing his nation's flag up high in the sky, fluttering in the wind, still gave him something akin to goosebumps and seeing it in the Olympic stadium was almost overwhelming. The moment the ceremony was over Matthew was enveloped in a pair of strong arms, the scent of roses and wine surrounding him.

"_Mon Matthieu, qui a été spectaculaire. Je suis tellement fière de toi et tout ce que vous êtes devenu. Je t'aime tant, mon chéri."_ Francis kissed Matthew's cheek, hugging him tightly and smiling when Matthew held on tightly to the Frenchman's thick winter jacket.

"_Merci, merci, Fran__ç__ois_. _Je t'aime aussi."_ Matthew let Francis's familiar scent and hold calm and soothe him.

It had been far too long since he'd been in Francis's presence and heard the song that he associated with the older man. He basked in the warmth Francis evoked in him, holding on tightly as to never let him go.

* * *

><p>After a celebratory dinner with the countries, Matthew found himself in bed with Francis. Over the course of the night, his relationship with his papa changed from that of father and son to lovers. When Matthew kissed Francis after a few too many glasses of wine at dinner, he felt the change and let it happen without a fight. Finally, the pair had gone back to the Olympic Village, collapsing in Matthew's bed with steamy kisses and soothing caresses.<p>

The sweet kiss being pressed to his shoulder shook Matthew back to the present. He glanced backward, smiling involuntarily at the man he'd adored since his childhood. Turning over to face Francis, Matthew snuggled up against his chest and sighed contentedly. When Francis slipped into the song of his northern country, Matthew felt his stomach flutter.

_Ô Canada!__  
><em>_Terre de nos aïeux,__  
><em>_Ton front est ceint de fleurons glorieux!  
>Car ton bras sait porter l'épée,<em>_  
><em>_Il sait porter la croix!__  
><em>_Ton histoire est une épopée__  
><em>_Des plus brillants exploits.__  
><em>_Et ta valeur, de foi trempée,__  
><em>_Protégera nos foyers et nos droits.__  
><em>_Protégera nos foyers et nos droits._

* * *

><p><strong>O Canada (English):<br>**_O Canada!__  
><em>_Our home and native land!__  
><em>_True patriot love in all thy sons command.__  
><em>_With glowing hearts we see thee rise,__  
><em>_The True North strong and free!__  
><em>_From far and wide,__  
><em>_O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.__  
><em>_God keep our land glorious and free!__  
><em>_O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.__  
><em>_O Canada, we stand on guard for thee._

**O Canada (French):  
><strong>_Ô Canada!__  
><em>_Terre de nos aïeux,__  
><em>_Ton front est ceint de fleurons glorieux!  
>Car ton bras sait porter l'épée,<em>_  
><em>_Il sait porter la croix!__  
><em>_Ton histoire est une épopée__  
><em>_Des plus brillants exploits.__  
><em>_Et ta valeur, de foi trempée,__  
><em>_Protégera nos foyers et nos droits.__  
><em>_Protégera nos foyers et nos droits._

**O Canada (Bilingual):  
><strong>_O Canada!__  
><em>_Our home and native land__  
><em>_True patriot love in all thy sons command.__  
><em>_Car ton bras sait porter l'épée,__  
><em>_Il sait porter la croix!__  
><em>_Ton histoire est une épopée__  
><em>_Des plus brillants exploits.__  
><em>_God keep our land glorious and free!__  
><em>_O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.__  
><em>_O Canada, we stand on guard for thee._


End file.
